His Angel
by aratay26
Summary: There are so many lines that the angel has crossed. Who cares about one more? Song-prompt fic. King Princess's 1950. A/C


•••  
_I love it when we play 1950  
So cold that your stare's about to kill me  
I'm surprised when you kiss me  
_•••

Aziraphale was having a mental breakdown, sitting there in the Bentley, Crowley's Bentley, wondering what was happening to himself.

It must be the decade, he thought. All these people and culture and _things_ happening.

The war, well _wars_, were over and another one was starting down there in that small country in Asia. Aziraphale had wanted to visit, to _spread miracles and peace and whatever that angels spread_, as Crowley would have said, but many things were keeping him from Korea.

Firstly, lethargy. And secondly...Well. That was it.

_What is happening to me?_ He wondered, head tilted back in a certain angle, staring up at the car roof.

His thoughts were pulled away by the opening of the car door.

"You still here?" Crowley slid into the car, and Aziraphale broke his stance, flustered.

"Ah. Yes."

"Don't you have things to do? Miracles to accomplish?"

The angel shrugged, feigning disinterest.

"Nothing in particular."

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

"Well then. A drink?"

"...Maybe."

He rubbed his hands anxiously, and Crowley frowned. "Something up?"

"Oh." He laughed, realized it was probably not an appropriate timing for that, and stopped. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"...Okay."

Crowley drove, and they reached their destination with quite speed as usual, thanks to the demon's erratic driving. Aziraphale watched, hypnotized, as Crowley's hands wrapped around the handle with such fluency.

He had never learned how to drive. It might be a basic requirement for modern and contemporary people, but Aziraphale had never made time or effort to get a license.

_Don't make appointments where you can't walk to,_ that was his mindset. And that Crowley had driven him whenever he needed and whenever he called for, was a possible factor contributing to that mindset.

Everything went in plan and in plain normality. Nothing was unpredictable in his long lived life.

_Deja vu,_ He realized then. Everything felt like deja vu. Walking, talking, riding Crowley's car, going to get a drink, _everything_ felt like he'd done it before.

The side effect of living for six thousand years, he mused, feeling desperately the need for something new. Something more in his life.

Something like...

He glanced at Crowley's creased forehead as he parked in front of the book shop, looking like so much was on his mind. He wondered what. Maybe if God was on his side, _himself_?

"Maybe we should go to a bar," Aziraphale suggested slowly and Crowley did a double take.

"What?"

"It would certainly be new, wouldn't it?" He said with glimmering hope that it would be the change he so desperately needed.

"It _would_, but, are you seriously okay? Nothing wrong, right?"

"Of course not," He gave a brittle smile, feeling his hands drop to his lap. He was bad at lying, _terrible_ at it, but hoped Crowley had the decency to go over it.

Crowley looked at him, then looked at the car door, then looked back at him.

"Where?"

"Maybe somewhere you know?"

"You wouldn't like the places I know," Crowley answered automatically, and Aziraphale blushed.

"Anywhere new is okay," He mumbled. Crowley tilted his head the way Aziraphale was used to, when he was plotting something devilish, and smiled.

"I have a place in mind,"

•••  
_I like it when we play 1950  
So bold make 'em know that you're with me  
Stone cold, will you miss me?  
_•••

"This is loud," Aziraphale murmured, his hands covered over his ears, and Crowley laughed loudly.

"You don't need to speak," Crowley pointed out, and Aziraphale pursed his lips.

_'I know that.'_ He thought, and Crowley made an affirmative noise.

_'Nice bar isn't it?'  
_

Aziraphale snorted,

_'I think you're lying, demon. This is not a bar. It's a _club_.'  
_

Crowley raised his eyebrows.

_'Oh so you _do_ know what a club looks like.'  
_

Aziraphale made a face and Crowley laughed again, the sound clear and bright and somehow managing to get a grip on Aziraphale's stomach. Oh what he would do to hear that sound again.

_'Drink',_ Crowley ordered, and Aziraphale complied. The alcohol was different from his usual wine, and tasted stronger. But it was _different_, and it was good.

_'Thank you.'_ He bit his lip, and Crowley frowned.

_'For what?'  
_

_'I don't know,'  
_

Aziraphale felt like he was feeling a lot of that these days. He didn't know anything. He didn't know why he existed. Everything in the world came and went by, being happy and sad and excited and angry while he just was. His thoughts and actions had lost value long time ago.

Sometimes he wondered, wondered what would happen if he just stopped. If he stopped thinking and caring and breathing. But although how much he tried to lie to himself, he knew he would stay alive. And for the first time, he had hated being an angel.

Only times when he enjoyed life was when he was with Crowley. The demon was shining with glaring light of _life_, light that reached Aziraphale's heart and warmed him, although he knew it was the light of hell, forbidden.

He found himself questioning things. Why was he an angel when he hated being one, and why was Crowley a demon when he hated that too? Why didn't God know this? Why didn't She _understand_?

Such questions, he knew, were the reason some angels had to Fall.

So he waited. Waited with half-worry and half-carelessness, to Fall. Would they do it? Would they have the guts to do it? Would _She_ let them?

Would he accept it?

Fingertips grazed his hand and he looked up, surprised.

_'__You look...sad.'  
_

Crowley leaned in, and Aziraphale crumpled against the demon's body, melting into each other. Crowley awkwardly patted his shoulder, and Aziraphale smiled softly, closing his blurry eyes.

Why couldn't it be like this all the time?

Why did he have to waste time, being sad?

_'You make it better,'_ He thought without pause, and felt the demon falter.

So Aziraphale hoped. Hoped that everything will work out, and Crowley would be happy, at the end of all of this. And that he would be able to smile, with him.

_'You make it better.'  
_

Crowley repeated, and they sat there, hugged by the noise the crowd the warm air the room their thoughts that they kept to themselves and something that felt suspiciously like love.

•••  
_So tell me why my gods look like you  
And tell me why it's wrong  
So I'll wait for you  
I'd pray  
I will keep on waiting for you_


End file.
